


ein meer zwischen mir und meiner vergangenheit

by Zartbitterpoetin



Series: What The Water Gave Me [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Again, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Grief/Mourning, this is pretty sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 13:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20976389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zartbitterpoetin/pseuds/Zartbitterpoetin
Summary: The landscape flies by, mountains turning to rolling fields turning to the familiar sights of his home, with the sea almost in sight now, and Finnick sits there, leans against the window of the train and thinks.Snow and Coin are dead now and the war is over. The districts celebrate and mourn their losses, parents grieve their children, brothers grieve for their sisters, wifes for their husbands and so many grieve for a future they can’t have anymore. Finnick should know – he is one of them.





	ein meer zwischen mir und meiner vergangenheit

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!  
The second part in the "what if Finnick had lived"- series and it's sad again!  
The title is from the song "Ozean" by AnnenMayKantereit (I saw them in concert and it was beautiful).  
Hope you like this :)

The landscape flies by, mountains turning to rolling fields turning to the familiar sights of his home, with the sea almost in sight now, and Finnick sits there, leans against the window of the train and thinks.

Snow and Coin are dead now and the war is over. The districts celebrate and mourn their losses, parents grieve their children, brothers grieve for their sisters, wifes for their husbands and so many grieve for a future they can’t have anymore. Finnick should know – he is one of them. 

Their country is bleeding, open wounds and broken land, though the night has ended and it’s finally dawning. They have so much to do, to heal Panem, soothe the hurt and build a new world. But Finnick is tired. Too tired.

The revolution may have had a happy ending, but his own story seems like tragedy now, a cruel mockery. To have everything he wanted so close in reach and to have it all taken away. The promise of a happy life together with Annie and their son. Mags living next door and maybe raising even more children. Johanna visiting often, or even living with them, goofing around with his friends. Watching his kids grow up happy and free and safe. Leading a simple life filled with laughter and sunshine and bathing in the moonlight and see his friends and family grow old.

Now there is no sunlight and no laughter. 

Katniss and Peeta have survived, as well as Haymitch, but he doesn’t know what to say to them. They are all damaged and Katniss is trapped in Twelve and in her own mind. Peeta is still recovering in the Capitol and Haymitch – well, Haymitch is probably drowning everything in alcohol right now. He has each of their phone numbers on a little slip of paper in his jacket but he doesn’t think he will call them. 

He is too much of a coward, telling himself excuse after excuse. They would understand better than most why he doesn’t want to go back to the old house he shared with Annie in Victors Village. But not yet, he tells himself again, and ignores it all. The paper is heavy as a stone. 

When he was young, even before he started training for the games, it seemed like something out of a fairytale. The victors were those who brought glory, and, much more importantly, food and resources to the district and the victors never had to worry for the rest of their lives. He was so fucking naïve back then. But there is positive change too, as hard as it seems for him to see them now: His father survived, and his sisters and one of his brothers. 

One other Victor from Four survived too, old Kyle, who wasn’t really that old, but old enough to have white hair and be recognized as an elder. He wasn’t seen as tainted by the Capitol (not like Finnick was) because his longer visits to the Capitol were long ago and in the last years he hadn’t mentored, as he wasn’t really a popular victor. Too boring, too district-like. A down to earth kind of guy, someone who hid his trauma well, but not too well. Respected for continuing to be a fisherman, even after winning the Games. Finnick never was like that, never got the chance to. 

Playing a role came natural to him, like a second skin and now that his stage has burned to the ground, he struggles with his role in the new world. So when he finally sees the familiar shape of District Four on the horizon, illuminated by the sunrise, he just takes a deep breath, and banishes all hurting thoughts from his mind. He can think about them later, but for now he will think about the sea and about old stories and nothing else.

As the train rolls in, he can already see his father and siblings standing there, waiting with strange expressions and he has to hurl his suitcases out by himself and he loves it, that there are no Avoxes who carry his luggage, it’s just him and his own strength.  
He runs a little to his family and waves, even though there aren’t many other passengers, so they can’t miss him. Most people are still focusing on rebuilding their homes right now or are not accustomed to being able to travel freely yet, so traveling between districts is still pretty rare, although Finnick doesn’t doubt that this will change over time.

When he stumbles a bit, his sister Sally reaches out but doesn’t touch him. There’s a look in her eyes, as if she doesn’t recognize him, a look she has had for a long time. “Hey,” he says and then he is silent.  
Ian and Ava say nothing, just smile at him, a little sad and awkward, and he notices that his nieces and nephews aren’t with them. His father clasps his shoulder and says: “Welcome home, son.” He moves as if to take his suitcases but Finnick holds tight and pulls them away, suddenly unreasonably protective (that’s his whole life now and he won’t give it to someone else that easily). His father just shrugs and Finnick is glad. 

They all chat a little on the way to their house, they talk about how the rebuilding is going, how everyone is and he feels the eyes of the district on him, feels like he has still glitter and gold stuck to his skin, even though it’s been months and in District Thirteen there was no make-up and no sparkle or glitter. He wonders if he’ll always feel so tainted. They finally arrive at his childhood home, for the moment he is staying there, not wanting to face Victors Village yet. 

In their living room, the loss of his brother and their mother presses down on him, suddenly. He had an estranged relationship with his family most of his life, even before the games, maybe even before he started training for his role as a tribute, but still he feels the loss. They didn’t survive the rebellion, both killed in uprisings. Still, Finnick is proud that they fought.  
His whole family fought, except Ian who has two little children and Ava who served as a nurse instead. And of course, himself, who they didn’t allow out on the battlefield, even if very few people know that. He knows they must see him as a coward. He knows his own mind tells him that enough. Sally closes the door behind him and he startles. An uncomfortable silence fills the air. A year ago he might have been the one to break it. 

“You can stay in your old room,” Sally finally says and he nods and is glad to escape the family he is no longer a part of, maybe never really was. 

He puts his things away, opens the window to let the air filled with salt and seaweed in, then sits down on the bed. At the bottom of his red case are diaries and sketchbooks that once belonged to Annie. He takes them out with shaking hands and slowly opens them. He traces the ink softly, a lover’s caress, where she wrote a poem for him and suddenly everything is too much. 

Sobs build up in his chest and it’s all so fucking unfair, that he made it, but Mags didn’t, Johanna didn’t. That Annie didn’t make it, sweet, wonderful, wild Annie. And fuck, he is so angry and hopeless and empty because they scraped his feelings out, hollowed him out until almost nothing was left and now what? 

The only thing left is his anger and so he throws the lamp on the nightstand against the wall, to destroy something, to show that he can still have some impact on the world around him, that he isn’t a fucking ghost. He watches it break and screams, without words. 

It feels like he could never scream before, always under scrutiny. Never allowed to show his true face and if he is honest, he isn’t sure if he can now, but at least he can scream without having to fear consequences. When he steps out of his room, he sees his family in the living room. 

They pointedly don’t look at him, so they must have heard him. 

There’s an awkward silence and he looks in their faces and sees strangers and disdain and helplessness and goes right out the front door, to the sea.

He comes back late at night, when they are already asleep or at least pretending to be and the next day he goes downtown with them to help with rebuilding the City Hall. It’s almost noon and the sun is hot and the work is hard but he likes it, the hard labor that builds something up. Using the tools, not to destroy but to repair, is a good feeling and he thinks, with a bit of shame, about the lamp in his room. 

“Hey! Golden boy!” a male voice behind him shouts. “Hey, we’re talking to you!” Finnick doesn’t turn around because he has no reason to automatically think they mean him (he doesn’t) and besides, even if they did, he doesn’t want trouble. 

“To good for us, even now, are we?” He hears several steps coming nearer, and he lowers his head and clenches his teeth and fists. A heavy hand lands on his shoulder and Finnick turns around. Three men, about his age, stand there, tools in their clenched hands. He doesn’t look them in the eye.  
“What do you want,” he snarls, annoyed. He really has no time for their nonsense now. 

“We want to know what gives you the right to return here like nothing has happened, like you’re still one of us.” 

The words of the man hit him in the face and he sharply draws in the salty air. “I have as much a right to be here as you do,” he protests and now he is looking in their eyes. He doesn’t see hate or cruelty. He sees suffering and rage and grief. It’s almost like a twisted mirror. 

“That’s bullshit and you know it. You’ve become one of them, you were their shining darling, the perfect victor and now you want to hide from the crimes you committed. I don’t fucking know why the new government lets you do this but know that Four isn’t as soft or as forgiving as they are,” the tallest, a redhead, almost shouts. For a moment he is speechless, fucking speechless. 

“Are you serious right now?” is the only thing Finnick can say. The two men flanking the redhead look at each other, suddenly seeming concerned. “Yes. You don’t belong here, with the people who lost so much to the capitol, to the war.” The man seems to be dead serious and Finnick can feel hysterical laughter building up in his chest. The redhead’s friends whisper something too him, seeming to want to hold him back but it isn’t him they should be concerned about.

Because Finnick is tired, and doesn’t care about anything anymore, which means he is throwing caution so far to the wind that it will probably land in another district. 

“I lost people too! I am grieving too, and I know very well how much the Capitol can take from you!” He’s screaming at this point and apparently causing a scene, but he doesn’t really care, if he is being honest. 

“Yeah, you seemed really unhappy when you were sleeping around all those years, partying and laughing and drinking and having more food to yourself than half of Four!” the other man shouts back, and now his friends are definitely trying to hold him back.  
“Brian, that’s enough,” one of them tries to reason, to no prevail. The man, apparently called Brian, just continues. “What do you know of real loss? Of fighting for the right thing, knowing that it could cost you everything?” 

Something in Finnick snaps. “I have fought ALL my LIFE! Who do you think gave the rebellion much of its information, who protected the Mockingjay? I was one of the key strategists of the war!” He is face to face with the other man now and very close to throwing a punch. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Sally, but she can’t stop him anymore. No one can. 

“And the only reason I wasn’t on the front lines is that I wasn’t deemed emotionally stable enough, after losing my mentor and the love of my life and many good friends and I did not come back here to watch you all judge me for things you don’t even understand!” 

He throws that punch now, decking Brian right in the face and ducking when the other man tries to return the favor. Then the other two men hold their friend back and he distantly notices Sallys hand on his arm, pulling him away too. 

And then, to his horror, he feels his mask slipping away completely and he looks at their faces and he realizes that they really didn’t know all of that. And he wants to laugh a little, because did they really believe the capitol about this? About this, of all things? “I came back here to help my district, my home, to heal. But I don’t know how. I can’t even heal myself,” he admits. 

The men stare at him, horrified and slightly apologetic. “Hey man, I’m sorry,” the redhead says and approaches Finnick with an outstretched hand. “I kinda lost my head.” And if that isn’t one of the most typical things for Four, getting in a fist fight and starting a friendly conversation immediately after. God, he loves his home sometimes. “I’m sorry myself. You didn’t deserve that,” Finnick replies, because it is the truth and Brian and his friends seem like friendly enough guys. 

He takes the outstretched hand and shakes it. “Finnick Odair, pleasure to meet you,” he says and they both laugh a little. “Brian Erskine,” the other replies and pats him on the back. “It’s gonna be alright. We didn’t know that all. You know how the Capitol is and we just came to some wrong conclusions, alright? Wanna go get a drink with me and the boys this evening?” Finnick smiles and agrees

Later, Sally and he sit down on one of the stones they’ll use for rebuilding the town hall and she looks at him and says nothing. He sighs.  
“What is it?”, he asks, not unkindly but too tired to put on a show. “Why’d you never tell us?” She doesn’t have to specify. Finnick knows exactly what she means. He swallows and looks down on his dusty shoes.  
“Sally, I had to learn not to trust anybody. You don’t survive in their world otherwise.” 

He doesn’t mention the exception, the other victors. 

“And before we won, you were all constantly in danger. Every little misstep could have had consequences for you. I had to be perfect. Don’t you understand?”  
He is pleading now, but he doesn’t care. 

Sally hesitates. “I think I do now… But most of us didn’t know much about anything outside the District – that was one of their strategies. And when you came back, a lot of them feared that the new regime would just continue to act like the Capitol, just under another name. You still act so much like them.” 

“So what am I supposed to do?”, he whispers, desperately. “Just be yourself,” his sister answers.  
But he doesn’t know how to do that. He’s been putting up a mask since he was fourteen and sometimes between then and today, he has forgotten who he is. 

But maybe now he has the time to find out. And maybe, he thinks, with his sister by his side, looking out at the sea, he can start to heal. Later this day, he will go drinking with Brian and his friends, and tomorrow maybe he will play with Ians children, who haven’t seen their uncle in ages. 

The slip of paper in the pocket of his jacket doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.


End file.
